Page 2 of Shameless Vows

Aftershocks of the fear of chaos in my house and adrenaline from fleeing coursed through me, and I wriggled under the blankets to turn over toward him. My cheek was pressed to the side of his neck, and his chin was still firmly nestled on top of my head. As intimately close as it occurred to us to be as such young children.

“Do you promise me you’ll do that?”I quietly supplicated.“Truthfully promise?”

“I do,” he returned; promises and vows that were far beyond our years.“I promise. I swear on my own life that I’ll take you there, and keep you safe forever.”

ONE

ISLA

Twenty-Eight Years Old

THE DAY ITHAPPENED was in the middle of a summer heat wave the likes of which New York had never seen. Even the pool at my family’s Southampton estate waswarm. And even thoughel calorruns through my Mexican blood, it became too much for me, and I spent the majority of the summer hiding in my bedroom, plunking away at the keys on my Macbook. At the very least, the heat wave was conducive for making progress on my latest novel.

My deep, dark secret is the fact that I am a decently successful romance novelist, independently published under a pseudonym. I’ve been publishing about four books a year for the past six years, and all of those books manage to bring in approximately the equivalent of the median individual income in the state of New York. Six years ago, I had to figure out a way to provide for myself in the event that Papádecided to cut me off and deny me my inheritance.

Myotherdeep, dark secret is the reason he almost did.

I couldn’t keepthatsecret from my parents, but I’ve managed to keep my books from them. Thanks to modern technology, I exist as an author solely through the magical world of cyberspace, and I’m slowly building a safety net that can catch me if Papáever changes his mind.

I had finally made traction with a chapter I’d been struggling with all morning when my phone buzzed on the desk next to my keyboard.

Mamá: Ven aquí, por favor.

Pressing my lips together and sighing, I saved the file and closed the laptop, then stood up. My phone buzzed again.

Mamá: Asegúrate de estar vestida.

Make sure I’m dressed?

I glanced down at my tattered denim shorts and braless breasts covered by only a thin red tank top.

Isla Reyes: ¿Eh?

Mamá: Tenemos invitados.

Oh.

We have guestsmeant I had to look presentable. My appearance and that of my three siblings has always been a direct reflection on our parents and always will be.

After slipping on a lightweight, pink sundress and a pair of ballet flats in a neutral shade that matched the natural tan of my legs, I quickly ran a brush through my long, thick, ebony hair that was still snarled from sleep, and swept it over one shoulder. The sudden command to come downstairs didn’t give me any time to put on any makeup, so I slicked a deep, red gloss over my lips in an effort to brighten my appearance a little.

Just before I slipped out of my room, my phone buzzed again.

Mamá: Prepárate, cariño.

I arched an eyebrow.

Brace yourself?

What in the hell wasthatsupposed to mean?

As I made my way down the wide, curving staircase, I couldn’t help wondering if some kind of additional repercussions from my deep, dark secret had surfaced again despite Papásupposedlyhandling itfor me.

Killing someone has a tendency to do that.

Even if it was in self-defense.

At least, I was told it was self-defense. I don’t actually remember doing it.

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